For the '50 reasons to have (Sherlolly) sex' prompts- #46 It's getting a little hard. Well, after starting this three times, I finally came up with this story. Hope you all like it. (It's not a song fic... but I do love The Black Crowes!)

Big thanks to MizJoely for beta reading this for me. She is wonderfully supportive, I don't know what I'd do without her. Also to MrsMCrieff for reading it and telling me that I hadn't completely dropped the ball. These women... I'm blessed to know them!

I own nothing. Enjoy. ~Lil~

It's getting a little hard, Sherlock admitted to himself as he soaked in the bathtub, allowing the hot water and Epson salts to do their job. Tonight it felt like he'd been chasing after a marathon runner or perhaps an Olympic trained athlete. Hell, the way he'd felt lately the man could have very well been a fun runner. Was it his age or had the criminals somehow become more fit? Is someone training them? Oh that would be interesting, wouldn't it? he thought just before he heard a knock on the door. He huffed. "What is it Molly?"

"Ah, sorry, Sherlock. But there aren't any towels in there. I just finished them up." She paused. "Should I bring you one?"

He pulled the shower curtain closed. "Yes, of course," he answered. Then he heard the door open and felt a gust of cool air.

"Why are you taking a bath?" she asked, sounding confused.

He really didn't want to have a conversation with Molly Hooper whilst he was naked in a warm bath. It was hard enough living with the woman. "I strained a muscle in my thigh, Molly. Nothing to worry about."

"What did John say?"

Yes, this is definitely the time for chit-chat. "He wasn't with me tonight. But it's fine. All I need is a soak in the tub and I'll be right as rain."

"If you're sure?"

"I am. Thank you for the towels," he said in a dismissing tone, hoping that she'd get the hint. People say I have boundary issues!

"Well if you need anything let me know," she offered.

"Of course."

Molly had been using John's old room for three weeks, ever since her ex-fiancé had decided to get married and 'liquidate his assets'. This included the flat that she was evidently still renting from the piece of rubbish. She was virtually homeless since the idiot had given her less than sixty day to vacate the tiny, hardly worth anything, hovel. Sherlock was absolutely certain that Tom had only done it on behalf of his new bride. Having his former lover as his tenant must have been really boiled the new Mrs. Meat Dagger's blood.

When he overheard a phone conversation about said problem what did he do? Oh, nothing much, just opened his big mouth and offered her a solution... 'I have a spare room, Molly. You've been generous enough to allow me the use of your bed on many occasions. Why not just stay at Baker Street until you get yourself sorted?'. She'd thrown her arms around his neck, thanking him profusely and saying that it wouldn't be long, that she just needed to find a decent flat in a neighbourhood that didn't scare the living daylights out of her. He'd left that day feeling rather good about the situation. Look at how far he'd come: from brooding loner to the kind of man who offered his troubled friend shelter in her time of need.

And it was going fine, really it was... until... well, until he realised how much he was enjoying her company, relying on it even. Had he been lonely? When asked himself this question, the simple answer was: yes, he had been. Obviously, it made sense. This realisation struck him only a week after she moved in. Then he really started noticing Molly, all of Molly to be precise... her hair, her eyes, her adorable little nose. Did she always bite her lip that much or was she trying to drive him mad? He found himself staring at her breasts while she hoovered (there was some... jiggling involved) or watching as she'd bend over in search of Toby's ever missing catnip ball. His behaviour disgusted him. She wasn't something to be objectified. She was his friend, a trusted colleague... with a fantastic arse, apparently.

Two weeks later he was still trying to come to terms with these... feelings and observations. He shuddered at the word feelings and attempted to banish the observations, then quickly finished up his bath. His thigh was still incredibly sore when he stepped over the tub wall; the soak hadn't worked as well as he had hoped. After he toweled off he looked through the cabinet for some sports cream, but found none. Of course, he'd used the last of it after a fall in an abandoned warehouse last month. Damn, he thought as he grabbed his blue dressing gown.

He opened the door and started limping toward his bedroom only to find Molly waiting in the hallway.

"If that's a strain, then I'm five eleven," she said. "The bath didn't work, did it?" Her hands were firmly planted on her hips as she blocked the entrance to his room.

"I'm fine, Molly. By tomorrow I'll be back to my old self." He reached for his door handle but she wouldn't allow it.

"I'm phoning John." She reached for her pocket, undoubtedly for her mobile.

"Don't!" He grabbed her wrist, then quickly released it. "He's... busy, and it's just a pulled muscle. What could he do anyway?"

"Well at least you've admitted that it's a pulled muscle."

"Semantics," Sherlock mumbled.

"What did John normally do?" she asked.

"What?"

"Surely this sort of thing happened while he was living here."

Sherlock rolled his eyes knowing that she wasn't letting this one go. "I dislocated my shoulder once, he... fixed it. Pushed it back into place and gave me some pills. Non-narcotic, of course. Then ranted about me going to hospital, which I promptly ignored." He looked up as he tried to recall other injuries. "There was a gash to my left pectoral, a sprained wrist, a few bruised ribs... several actually. I don't think he ever treated a pulled muscle though."

"Good God how you've abused your body. Have you taken anything?"

"Paracetamol. It's not really helping," he admitted.

Molly turned and opened his door then entered his room. "All right," she said as she walked in.

Sherlock stood frozen in the hallway.

When she realised he wasn't following she turned around. "Come on then, I can't do this alone."

What the bloody hell?

"Lie down," she instructed as she removed her jumper, leaving her in a tee shirt and jeans.

"Why?" Sherlock asked as he limped into the room.

Molly shook her head. "Because I'm going to massage the injury, obviously," she said as if she were talking to a six year old.

"I- I d-don't think that's altogether necessary." Oh, dear God, I'm stammering.

"Of course it is. Both medicine and a hot bath have failed. I need to work the muscle, and hard I'd imagine."

Bugger...

"Now lie down so we can get started," she demanded.

So Sherlock did indeed lie down on his bed just as his very pushy pathologist had ordered. He could think of no way to get out of the situation. If he protested she would either think he was being belligerent for no good reason or that he was repulsed by the idea of her touching him. Which was, by the way, the exact opposite of what he was feeling.

"Do you have any sports cream?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"I believe I have some oil in my room that will at least heat up and help relax the muscle. Back in a tick." She walked out of the room.

Damn door doesn't lock, he thought as she exited.

The problem was that he'd refused any kind payment for the use of the room and she had felt the need to do things in return. She'd been cooking and cleaning since the moment she'd arrived. Molly Hooper didn't like feeling indebted to anyone and she had told him as much when they'd argued about rent that first day. He finally won by throwing her assistance with his fake death in her face, but it didn't stop her from trying to pay him in other ways. He tried to stop her several times, but eventually gave up since she just ignored him and smiled as she cleaned.

Pants! he thought when he remembered that he was completely naked underneath his dressing gown. He jumped up, painfully, and put on a pair of boxers. Almost as soon as he rested his head on his pillow Molly walked through the doorway.

"Here we go. I knew I had something that would work." She smiled and showed him the small amber coloured bottle. "It's you left leg, isn't it?"

Sherlock nodded. "Should I change sides?"

"No, no. I'll just sit on the bed."

Yes! Let's get into bed so that you can rub me with oil. Great idea, he thought.

Molly went to the other side of the bed and crawled across until she was sitting next to Sherlock's thigh. That's when he noticed that she had changed clothes. She was no longer wearing jeans, but light cotton sleep shorts adorned with little pink bunnies along with her tee shirt. Not an all together erotic ensemble, yet somehow it managed to look sexy on Molly.

I've often wondered what my own personal hell would be. I honestly thought it was being tortured in Siberia... It seems I was wrong! It's the fact that I'm about to have an erection in front of the woman I've rejected and humiliated on numerous occasions. Mycroft is laughing right now, and he has no idea why. He looked her over again, his gaze falling on her shorts. The little pink bunnies are even laughing... He sighed.

Molly looked up after getting comfortable and said, "It really hurts, doesn't it?" Concern was written on her lovely face.

"It will," he said without meaning to.

"What?"

"Sorry, yes. It's quite sore," he replied.

She smiled brightly. "Just let me take care of you, Sherlock." She poured oil into her hands.

He closed his eyes and pictured his brother eating an enormous chocolate cake as he felt Molly moving his dressing gown aside.

"Is it low or high?" she asked.

God help him, it was high! "Ahh..." He heard her rubbing her hands together.

"Sherlock? Where's the pain?"

Mycroft sitting in the middle of a room full of baked goods. "It's... high-ish."

"Don't worry I'll find it."

Oh, I'm sure it will be very hard to miss, he thought, then once again tried to concentrate on his unpleasant brother and his unpleasant eating habits. That's when he felt Molly's small but surprisingly strong hands start rubbing his thigh and an unintentional groan escaped his mouth.

"Did that hurt?"

"No," he answered quickly. Damnit, she might have stopped if I'd said yes.

Then her hands were back and she was rubbing. She alternated between gentle and rough. Oh God it felt glorious. He pictured Mycroft, gluttonously devouring a cheesecake, his face covered in cheery topping. 'Enjoying yourself, brother dear?' the big fat... damn (he couldn't come up with an insult at the moment but he would later and it would be good!) said. 'Better control yourself or Molly's bound to notice, no matter how unimpressive your assets may be.' Really? He'd actually imagined his brother mocking his manhood... interesting...

It seemed that using his ridiculous brother as a distraction was working. Well, at least until Molly found the offending knot and her tiny thumbs started to work his thigh muscle like they had a grudge against it. Then, suddenly, she did this thing with the heel of her right hand, it must have been her right hand because that is her dominant hand, that caused him to moan... loudly. She managed to get deep... so deep his concentration slipped, completely. Mycroft and his sweets were gone, there was only Molly and her unimaginably strong hands (seriously, did she do some kind of hand strength training, they're tiny for God's sake!). Her left hand was under his thigh, gripping it tightly as she continued working the knot with the heel of her right hand. Then he made his biggest mistake of all: he opened his eyes. What he saw nearly ended him then and there. Molly had maneuvered herself and was straddling his left leg. She wasn't touching him, except with her hands, which was he hadn't noitced. She was biting her lip as she concentrated on his thigh. Her hair had mostly fallen out of its neat bun and was framing her face.

Oh God Molly, you're a fucking goddess!

She gasped as she looked up, startled and slightly out of breath.

I didn't say that out loud! I didn't say that out loud! She was staring at him wide-eyed, a shocked expression on her face. Okay, I probably did. Then her eyes traveled down his body to his mostly exposed boxers which now housed a rather impressive erection, if he did say so himself. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Sherlock?" she asked, her eyes now focused on his as her hands seemed to grip his thigh even tighter.

"I'm sorry. I- I... It happens..." It happens? Brilliant explanation!

Molly blinked and swallowed thickly. "It does?"

Sherlock shook his head. What the hell was that supposed to mean? "Of course it does."

"B-but it's just me." She laughed uncomfortably. "Was it the touching?" She held her hands up in the air like she was being arrested, though she didn't move off of his leg.

"What do you mean just you?" he asked.

She shrugged then wiped her hands on her shirt. "I'm not... you don't find me attractive." Her voice broke a bit at the end.

He laughed, though he didn't mean to. But seriously, they were talking about the erection she'd just inspired. "I do... actually."

"Why would you say that?"

Oh, so he was wrong... again. This was his personal hell. Now he had to admit that he had... feelings for the woman he'd rejected and humiliated on many occasions or hurt her once again. And frankly he didn't think he could actually stomach any more pain on her lovely face than she was currently sporting. Oh and he was still fully erect and she was still sitting across his leg. The bunnies have now reached a veritable chorus of uproarious laughter.

"I say that because it's true, Molly. I'm attracted to you. I probably always have been. Certainly explains some things. But since you moved in I find myself thinking about you... frequently. I don't think I could find anything unattractive about you."

"Liar," she whispered.

"There's physical evidence right in front of you." He gestured to his lap with both hands.

"Perhaps you were thinking of someone else."

Once again Sherlock laughed, though he refused to admit that he'd been trying to think about his brother just before... well... "Who do you suppose I was thinking about whilst you were on top of me rubbing me with oil?"

"I dunno. That woman with the bashed up face or that beautiful bridesmaid?"

He ignored her assumption about the Woman. "Janine? Trust me Molly, no matter how hard she tired, Janine never quite accomplished this." He once again pointed to his now waning erection.

"It's a little hard, so what."

"It was harder a minute ago, I assure you!" he nearly shouted.

Molly stared blank faced for a moment then she smiled. Suddenly her body started shaking. She covered her mouth with both hands and fell over on the other side of the bed laughing. The ridiculousness of the situation caught up with Sherlock and his previous amusement overtook him. He started laughing, and he couldn't stop. Tears were pouring out of his eyes as he looked over at Molly to see that she was curled on her side, holding her stomach, her fit dying down.

Their eyes lingered on each other for several seconds then Sherlock lunged forward, catching Molly's face in one hand and her waist with the other as he kissed her. A bit too hard, if he was honest. But the build up had nearly driven him insane and the massage had accomplished exactly what he'd expected. She didn't respond at first and he was momentarily terrified that he'd just made a horrible mistake. Then suddenly she was kissing him back. Her hands moved to his chest, brushing his dressing gown out of the way as she searched for skin. It was Molly who teasingly licked at Sherlock's lips until he opened, allowing her sweet little tongue to sweep across his.

He groaned and pulled her closer, needing to touch as much of her as possible. Finally breaking for air, Sherlock moved his mouth to her neck as he rolled them both until he was half lying on top of her, one of his legs between hers. He licked and sucked at her pulse point as one hand found the hem of her shirt. Her skin was soft and smooth and he wanted to cover it in kisses. Leaning up he shrugged out of his dressing gown and whispered, "I want to see you."

Molly's eyes had gone wide at his exposed torso, but she quickly gathered herself, sitting up as she pulled her shirt over her head. Sherlock was back on top of her in a split second, her bare breasts pressed firmly against his chest. His hands slowly walked up her sides as he watched her intensely. Her hands wrapped around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss, his tongue instantly entering her mouth causing Molly to make a high pitched whine.

Sherlock pressed his erection, now right back to its full, proud state, into her hip as he devoured her lips. They once again broke and he kissed his way down her chest to her small but firm breasts. Why was small bad? he thought as he sucked a nipple into his mouth, looking up to watch Molly writhe under him. Yes, he had once insinuated that she was compensating for her breast size, but that didn't mean he didn't appreciate them. For instance their size allowed her to fanny about the flat without a bra, as he'd noticed on many occasions. "They're perfect," he said as he switched sides. Molly smiled, holding onto his head, her nails scraping into his scalp as she softly moaned his name.

Oh that sound, his name on her lips, caused his hips to involuntarily thrust toward her again, even harder. He released her nipple and turned his attention lower. The bunnies... He knelt up, pausing when only a slight pain surged through his thigh. Damn, she's good, he thought then quickly pulled off the shorts. Triumphantly holding up the mocking clothing he said, "Molly, I'm burning these." Then he tossed them to the floor and removed her pants. She was laughing when he returned to her side.

"What do you have against my sleep shorts?"

He looked at the woman in front of him, laid out completely naked. If he were a poetic man, he'd call her breathtaking. (Okay, he'd go ahead and call her that anyway.) Once he'd taken a good long look, he remembered her question. "They were mocking me." He kissed her again as his hand moved between her thighs. "You're so wet," he whispered in her ear. "So lovely and so wet."

"Oh... God..."

He slipped a finger into her core while his thumb rubbed small circles around her clit. She was moving with him, her hips already surging up. He added another finger and felt her start to constrict as her breath quickened. "Come for me," he urged, adding more pressure to her bundle of nerves.

Molly had one hand buried in his hair and the other gripping the sheets, her eyes tightly shut. She was holding back... why? "Molly, love. Let go. It's just me," he said. Her eyes popped opened and she looked up at him as he quickened his pace, and drove his fingers deeper.

"Sh-Sh-Sher...lock!" she said in a sigh as he felt her walls clamp down on his fingers and her body shudder. "Oh God, yes... that's... ahhhhhh!"

Sherlock was in awe. He had admitted that beauty was something for which he had little appreciation. But the sight of Molly Hooper falling apart in front of him was quite literally the most beautiful event he'd ever witnessed.

Her breathing evened out as she slowly opened her eyes. "Sherlock, that was..."

"Yes, it was," he finished before kissing her cool lips. As he broke away from her he asked, "I don't really deserve it, but may I... have you, Molly?"

She smiled sweetly. "Of course, Sherlock. Even if it's just..."

"It's not," he interrupted once again. "It's not just physical." Oh, God. What am I doing? "I, ah... want to be with you."

A tear escaped Molly's eye and rolled into her hair. "Don't say that unless you mean it. You have to really mean it."

He nodded. "I do," he answered wiping her tear away, although he had no idea why she was crying. Emotions always confused him. He kicked off his pants and crawled on top of her. "You're sure?"

She nodded. Then he took a moment to look at her and consider what they were doing, what she was giving him. He felt a rush of emotions himself, ones he was entirely unaccustomed to feeling. He thought for a moment about stopping, it was all so intense. She was right to question him, he didn't do these sort of things, not like this, anyway. Molly pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Your leg?" she asked.

He shook his head. "It's fine, you took care of me, Molly Hooper. You always do." That was when he realised that he couldn't stop. Something had been drawing him to this moment since they'd met. Oh, I'm getting poetic again, he thought as he took himself in hand having made up his mind. He kissed her as he entered her and felt a gasp against his lips. Was that him or Molly? He didn't actually know.

She felt amazing, perfect. Resting his head on her shoulder he tried calm himself as he thrust in and out, feeling Molly's hands in his hair, on his back. Her soft moans and sighs soothed him and drove him crazy at the same time. He'd never felt so at peace and yet so in need. The dichotomy of it was overwhelming.

Sherlock had fucked, he'd screwed and shagged, he may have even had sex once or twice, but this was completely different. This, he realised, was making love. And if he was making love to her... oh God... I should tell her. He looked down at her to find Molly's eyes screwed shut. She was completely flushed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"Molly... I'm... I love you," he said.

She opened her eyes and nodded her head. "I know."

Sherlock stopped moving. "What?"

"Oh God, please don't stop. I'm so close!" She dug her nails into his back and wrapped her legs around his hips, urging him to move. "And I... I love... you too," she said in between short breaths.

And move he did. They could talk later. He thrust harder and harder as sweat dripped off of his face, landing on Molly's chest. Sherlock kissed her neck as he brought both of her hands above her head. She immediately gripped the head board and planted the heels of her feet into the mattress, thrusting her hips up to meet his. Taking a nipple in his mouth, he bit down hard causing Molly to thrash and cry out. He was on the edge, but so was she.

Suddenly she was coming. He felt her inner walls fluttering against him.

"I'm... I'm... Oh fuck! YES!" Her body was rigid, as she clung to him tightly.

Three more thrusts and Sherlock was overtaken in a rush of ecstasy like nothing he'd ever experienced. He buried his head in her shoulder and he heard himself grunting like some kind of animal as he rutted against her then collapsed.

Finally he rolled over, trying to regulate his breathing, because at the moment he was nearly as winded as he had been after chasing the Usain Bolt of the London Criminal Underground. He glanced over at Molly to find her smiling at the ceiling. She abruptly got up and grabbed his dressing gown.

"Be right back," she said as she scurried out of the room, not looking at him.

He could do nothing but sigh contentedly. Though he needed to use the loo as well, if for no other reason but to clean up a bit. He stretched his legs and arms, once again shocked at the fact that his thigh felt so much better.

A short while later (or perhaps it was hours, he was far too relaxed to worry about silly things like time) Molly was walking through the door. "Here ya go," she said as she tossed him a warm, wet flannel."

Trust Molly to think of his needs. She stood next to the bed nibbling on her lip and playing with the ties on his gown.

When he was finished he threw the flannel across the room. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sleeping here, then?"

"Of course you are. Now take that off and get in bed."

She did and was instantly curled up at his side.

"So, I know? Care to explain?" he asked once she'd gotten comfortable and pulled the duvet over them both.

She giggled and turned her face to look up at his. "All right. You said you were attracted to me and that you wanted to be with me. You don't do anything half way, Sherlock. That's why I cried. I realised what you were trying to say, in your own way." She cupped his cheek. "I didn't think you'd ever actually say it, especially during sex."

"It seemed like the right time." He kissed her. "You deduced me once again, Miss Hooper."

She smiled sweetly. "I do that sometimes."

He'd always assumed that love would be so hard for him, if not impossible. Staring into her warm, dark eyes, it seemed so simple, so easy. "You're quite good at it. As well as other things, as I've found out tonight."

"Oh, how's your leg?" She reached under the covers rubbed his thigh.

"How many times do I have to tell you that it's fine?"

She continued to rub. "I can feel the knot. It's hard again," she said adding more pressure.

Sherlock stifled a moan, then he grabbed her hauling her across his hips. "Well whose fault is that?" he said then he pulled her down for a searing kiss.

Yey! It's finally finished! Really hope you liked it. Please let me know. It would mean so much to get a review for this story! Thanks for reading. ~Lil~